


One Night

by TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Prom, Weechesters, dean is a good big brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-25 01:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13823997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite/pseuds/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite
Summary: My season/prompt was SpringBetaed by @manawhaat





	One Night

“No,” Dad gruffs, hardly glancing up from his paper.

“But-”

“No, Sam.”

Dean watches the exchange from across the kitchen table in the little apartment they've been renting. He sees the anger shining in Sam's eyes, the slump of the tall teenager’s shoulders, the way his jaw clenches as he bites back the harsh words he’s dying to spit out. It’s always like this before big fights, but today Sam pulls it together enough to bite back his words. Sam finally crumples the flyer and throws the balled up paper down on the table and storms away. The slam of the bedroom door seems impossibly loud in the quiet space. Dean knew trouble wasn’t far behind when Sam came home with a giant smile and this light blue flyer.

Dean grabs and smooths out the paper; “Prom” is written across the top in a fancy font. The date and time were listed, and he winces a little at the cost of a couple's ticket.

“Trash. Now,,” Dad orders.

“Yes, sir.”

Dean disobeys folds it up, and tucks it in his back pocket. For safe keeping.

* * *

 

Sam’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed. He’s focused on an open book in his lap, but he's not reading. Dean sighs to himself at the sight; Sam’s almost 17 and it still feels like he’s just a little kid.

“Sam-”

“Go ‘way.”

Dean’s eyes roll as he crosses the room to sit on the edge of Sam’s bed. “It's just a dance. I never went to prom and I'm fine.”

“I'm not you, Dean.”

“Yeah… you're not. Look, Sam. Five, ten years down the road, prom won't matter.”

“But it matters now.”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, “yeah, it does. Look, give it a few days. I'll talk to Dad again, see if I can persuade him. We're gonna to be here ‘till the end of the school year, so he can't use ‘we’ll move’ as an excuse. Money’s not that tight, so I'm sure we can get him to change his mind.”

Sam looks up, angry eyes turning hopeful. “You think?”

“I do. There a girl you want to ask?” Dean teases his brother.

Sam reddens, ducking his head. “Yeah, there is.”

“Oooh, Sammy’s got a crush! What's her name?”

“Aubry.” The name is almost a sigh off Sam's lips. It's clear he likes this girl.

“Aubry, huh? Cute name. Tell me about her.”

Sam does. He tells Dean about her soft voice and pretty brown curls, and she's just so  _ smart _ . She's Sam's scene partner in  theatre and always helps him with his homework, and she told him how much she’d love to go to prom, but she doesn't think she'll get asked. Sam wants to ask her.

Dean wants Sam to ask her.

* * *

 

Sam doesn't come out of his room for dinner. He's calmed down, but Dean knows he's still angry at Dad and unwilling to face him quite yet. Dad grumbles about “stubborn teenagers” and pokes at the pasta Dean made, grumbling about that, too. Dean stays silent. He needs to let Dad burn off his anger before he can hope to change his mind.

It's a few days before Dean finds a good time to bring it up. He and Dad are cleaning guns at the kitchen table. Sam is at after school rehearsal.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Dean?”

“Can I talk to you about something?”

John lifts a curious brow. “I’m listening.”

“Sam wants to go to prom-”

Dad groans, sitting back in his chair. “Dean-”

“Just hear me out. Sam's worked hard this year. He's hunted, kept his grades up, and stayed on top of his training. I know, it's just a dance, but it's important to him. There's a girl in one of his classes and she wants to go, but she doesn't think she'll get asked. He wants to ask her- he knows it would mean a lot to her. You know how Sam is.”

“Yeah, I do,” John admits, mind comparing his youngest to his late wife. The thought stings in his chest a little before Dean’s voice draws him out of his almost daydream..

“Well, he's never gonna to have this chance again. Prom is a one time thing. If he misses it, it's gone, and he'll be the kid who didn't go to prom. He already feels like a freak. Let him be normal for one night.”

John sighs, wiping his hands on a rag and rubbing his forehead. “Fine. He can go. But he can't complain when we move again.”

“Yes, sir. I'll tell him.”

“I'll give you both some money. Help him rent a tux and a tie to match his date’s dress. Make sure there's some left over for the tickets and dinner. Got it?”

Dean grins uncontrollably. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

 

When the prom day comes, Dean takes Sam to a place on Main Street. They find a tux long enough for the Winchester's tall frame and a tie that matches Aubry’s blue dress. Sam buys tickets, a corsage, and makes reservations at a nicer restaurant. Dean lets him borrow the Impala for the night, after the standard lecture on how to take care of her. Sam rolls his eyes, but agrees.

When Sam emerges from the bedroom in a panic, tie hanging loose around his neck, Dean’s surprised to see Dad step in to help.

“Here, let me,” the senior Winchester says, taking the ends of the tie from Sam’s hands. He does up the top buttons and quickly ties the knot. He smooths down the tie and buttons Sam's jacket. “There you go. You look good, Sam.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Sam says quietly.

Dean holds out the keys. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Sam takes the keys, hands shaking a little. “Thanks, Dean.”

* * *

 

Sam comes home late that night, hair a little messy, lips a little kiss-swollen, smiling like he had the best night of his life. He's clutching the keys in one hand and a picture in the other. He keeps Dean up for another hour telling him every detail, but Dean doesn't mind at all.

* * *

 

It's been a long time since Sam went through his box of memories. Tonight he's a little drunk,  fuzzy and warm with nostalgia when he sits heavily at the end of his bed, bending to pull an old box out from under it.

Right on top is the flyer from the nursing home where they hunted a banshee; where he met Eileen, and he smiles, a little tipsy, but happy. Hidden under that are some pictures of he and Dean.

He sifts through the items, taking his time, and after a long while, he reaches the bottom;  the first two pictures he ever put in the box. One’s of him and Jess, labelled “Spring Break, 2004”, and the other, much older, is of a tall teenager in an almost-too-small tux, arms wrapped around a beautiful curly-haired girl in a blue dress.

“Sammy! Didja get lost?”

Chuckling at Dean’s slurring, Sam reverently packs the box and tucks it back under the bed, grabbing a deck of cards from his desk and flipping off the light.

“Coming, Dean!”


End file.
